Garry Disher - Two-Way Cut

Leah, said Tess, he was helping us.

Leah shook her head. He was hired to kill you.

Leah had put it together in the past couple of minutes. The school had hired private investigators to find Tess and bring her back because police involvement might mean media attention and embarrassment for both the school and Tess’s high-profile parents. But the swimming coach, Vale, had taken advantage of this. Needing to silence Tess, he’d monitored the movements of the private detective who was tracking Tess and passed the information on to a hired killer, who had shot the detective, taken on his identity and now intended to complete his assignment.

Tess was watching Leah, open-mouthed with shock. Who would hire a detective to

Hes not a detective. The dead man I saw back at the farm was the detective.

Tess took it in. Oh.

Open the boot of the car.

What?

I want to stuff this character in the boot where he cant get at us or escape.

Then what?

Take him to the police? Something like that.

Okay.

Leah’s eyes didn’t stray from the man on the ground, who was watching assessingly. She heard Tess remove the keys from the ignition, walk around to the back of the car, open the boot lid.

And scream. Leah flinched. She didn’t dare shift her gaze. What?

Theres someone already in the boot, Tess said, her voice high, breaking with strain. He looks dead.

Theo Reed, Leah thought. She said nothing, merely watched the killer. Then she said, Search the car. You might find handcuffs.

The man on the ground gave her a slight twist of his lips, a fleeting look of disgust. She ignored him.

Two minutes later, Tess called in triumph, Found them.

Leah motioned the killer to his feet and trained the pistol on him while Tess cuffed his hands behind his back. Now I want you to climb into the boot with the real Theo Reed, she said.

The man swallowed. Hes dead.

Then he cant hurt you, Leah said.

The mans eyes were wide, panicky. Its not right, he said. Not… he searched for the right word … not healthy.

Leah shook her head. I’m not interested in your welfare, she said, and fired a shot past his ear.

He flinched and shuffled, bent over, to the boot of the car, and rolled in and began to heave about as if he were sharing a too small bed with someone.

Now, Leah said. Melbourne.

But first she took out her mobile phone, dialled, and asked for Jill Blair. She hadn’t called anyone in a long time.

The voice was remote, surprised at nothing in a chaotic world. Yeah?

This was going to be tricky. Sergeant Jill Blair had been at the guesthouse when Leah had been assaulted. Although shed played no part in the incident, and professed dislike for the male officers involved, she hadn’t actively supported Leah. Leah Flood.

There was silence. Then, I hope you’re keeping your head down, Leah. You’re not exactly on anyones Christmas card list.

I know that, Jill, Leah said. Look, do you want a crack at Carl Stannage?

Warily, Yes.

Don’t ask me how I know this, but a black Range Rover is heading for the city right now, probably along the Western Highway. Leah read out the registration number. The plates are false. Its being driven by a couple of Stannages goons. You’ll find drugs, cash and shotguns.

More silence. The Western Highway. Is that where you are right now?

No comment. You’ll also find damage to the passenger front bumper bar, maybe traces of red paint. If so, it will match the paint on a red Monaro that crashed and burned outside the town of Prospect a few days ago.

Leah, what are you getting invol—

But Leah had broken the connection.

You cant take me back to school, Tess said.

I wont.

I hate it there.

I know.

Vale wants to kill me so I cant report him.

This was getting repetitive. I know that, Tess.

So where will you take me?

Leah had thought long and hard about that. Her old house was out of the question, her parents lived on the Gold Coast, and she didn’t want to bring trouble down on the few friends and acquaintances she had left.

A motel.

Tess shrank sulkily into her seat. Now and then a muffled thumping came from the boot, muffled shouts, the frame of the car shaking minutely as the killer thrashed about in fury. I hate motels.

Where do you suggest, then? Leah demanded. Do you have friends you can stay with?

Their parents would turn me in.

Then it has to be a motel. Ill stay with you until everythings sorted.

What if that takes weeks, months? And what if other people come after me? You’re going to stay close to me every minute of every day?

Leah sighed, conceding Tess’s reservations. Ahead of her the fast dirt road climbed past a rusty iron barn and stockyards to the brow of a low range of hills. Beyond that would lie a broad plain and Horsham and the Western Highway to Melbourne.

You could take me home, Tess said. Hawthorn. Its empty, no tenants or anything.

Leah brooded. For as far as anyone knew, Tess was still on the road somewhere out west, the detective from Abbott’s following her. But things were falling apart for Vale, and he would soon think to look for Tess closer to home.

Too dangerous. What about your half-brother?

Ian? I don’t know. He lives in Southbank and hell probably have some chick with him. Usually his girlfriends don’t like me.

Then it has to be a motel.

I need stuff, Tess wailed. Clean clothes and stuff.

Leah thought it through, then slowly nodded. But we don’t linger, okay? We go to your house, grab a few things, then find a motel, agreed?

Agreed. Tess jerked her head. What about him?

Let me deal with him.

Tess directed Leah to a leafy street in Hawthorn, where even the humblest dwelling fetched close to a million dollars, and pointed to a large Edwardian house set on a broad, grassy corner block. At one time the house had been screened from the street by a tall box-hedge, but the hedge had clearly been torched recently. In fact, Leah realised, as she looked up and down the street, several similar hedges had been burnt to the ground. It was one of the hazards of living in the better suburbs of the city.

The gates were open. She drove in, white gravel complaining discreetly and expensively under the Magnas tyres. There was a three-car garage at one side of the house, a fenced swimming pool at the other.

She parked behind a Saab Cabriolet and they got out. The air was still, warm, drowsy. You didn’t hear blaring radios, angry shrieks or accelerating tyres on these streets.

Do you know the car?

Its Ians, Tess said, as they reached the front door.

I thought you said he doesn’t live here.

He doesn’t.

Then why

Tess shrugged. I guess its his house as much as mine. Anyway, Ive lost my key and can never remember the security code.

Leah was expecting Tess to press the buzzer for the intercom, but the girl tested the doorknob. It was unlocked. Leah barred her way suddenly. Wait. She took out the killers pistol. Let me go first.

Why?

Someone hired that guy to kill you, right? How do you know hes not waiting inside? How do you know he hasnt killed your brother and

Tess shrank back from the door. Okay.

Leah turned the knob fully and pushed the door gently. She looked along a cool, dimly lit hallway. Music sounded faintly. She stepped in, Tess huddling close to her back.

Can you tell where the musics coming from? Leah whispered.

Tess pointed, perplexed, toward the end of the hall. It seems to be coming from down there, Ians old room.

The door was ajar. Leah peered in. The air was stale; every light was on. One wall was lined with books; a built-in wardrobe with sliding doors took up a second wall; a sound system, plasma wide-screen TV and DVD crowded a third wall. The fourth was mostly window, looking out onto the grounds of the house next door. A huge computer hummed on a desk, the flat-screen monitor displaying an online gambling site. The wardrobe was open, revealing stylish suits and shirts along a rail, and several pairs of soft, expensive-looking shoes. Otherwise the room was empty.